


Charlotte Jane

by colormetheworld



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Constnace. Constant, Like a home, The Moment - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8824372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colormetheworld/pseuds/colormetheworld
Summary: MisfiresCharlotte Jane is her mother's daughter, outspoken, smart and emotional. When she stumbles on a secret from Jane's past, she decides to take matters into her own hands so that she can discover the truth. Written in The Moment universe.





	1. Chapter 1

The woman at the cash register stares unabashedly. 

At first Charlotte and Melody, too engrossed in their conversation, do not notice. Charlotte swipes the gum off the counter before the cashier can put it in their bag, and shakes a piece out into her hand. She starts to walk away but realizes that Melody is still standing there, waiting for her change.

“Um, you owe me three dollars,” Mel says, halfway between confused and irritated. 

Charlotte looks around at the cashier, an older woman with greying hair and brown eyes.  That is when she realizes the woman is staring at her. 

Hard. 

She doesn’t answer. 

“Uh…Hello?” Mel tries again. 

The cashier’s mouth moves, but whatever she says is not loud enough to be heard. 

“Excuse me?” Charlotte says, because the woman seems to be talking to her. 

“Jane?” 

Charlotte blinks, confused. “No,” she says. “Charlotte.” She is about to say more, but Melody is looking at her meaningfully, so she stops talking, stepping back away from the counter. 

“Jane,” the woman says again. “Oh, my God. It’s you.” 

Melody takes Charlotte’s arm, probably a little harder than she normally would. “No,” she says forcefully. “You’re wrong…keep the change.” And she pulls Charlotte out of the store. 

They walk quickly down the block, stopping at the corner to wait for the light, and Charlotte chances a look over her shoulder. The woman has come out of the store behind them. She is still looking at them, though now she has a cigarette in her hand. Even from her distance, Charlotte can see the woman’s hand is shaking. 

“What was that about?” She asks, looking around at Melody. 

The older girl looks shaken, but also like she’s trying to hide how much. 

“Mel?” 

“I dunno, Cj,” she says, striving for casual, and only half succeeding. “Just some crazy, probably.

Charlotte frowns. “She thought I was my mom.” 

Melody bites her lip. “There are a lot of people named Jane, Charlotte. It’s a really common name, actually.” 

“Mel,” Charlotte raises her eyebrows. “Seriously?” 

The light changes, and Melody starts walking, faster than before. Charlotte has the sense she’s trying to put as much distance between them and the convenience store as possible. 

“Maybe it was some former victim or something,” She says finally. “Either way, didn’t seem totally safe, yeah?” That’s Melody, always erring on the side of caution. Where having a mother in law enforcement has made Charlotte feel invincible, it has made Melody extra vigilant, always alert to the prospect of danger. 

“Seemed like just a harmless old woman to me,” Charlotte says. “I wonder why she thought I was Ma? Maybe she knew her as a kid?” 

“Or maybe it has nothing to do with your mom at all,” Melody snaps. She pulls out her phone and starts tapping away at it. 

Charlotte stares at her. “You honestly think it was just a coincidence?”

“Yeah,” Melody says, barely taking her eyes off of her cell.

Charlotte shakes her head. “I don’t,” she says, more to herself than to her preoccupied friend. She can feel a kind of manic curiosity begin to settle over her, like when she was eight and had been convinced that she was not being told the whole truth about Santa Claus. She had pressed and pressed, slinking around the house like a spy, following her parents around and peppering them with question after question until they had been forced to admit that yes, the jolly old man was a hoax.

She had felt pride at her ability to find the truth, more than disappointment at the revelation.  

Walking towards home with Melody, Charlotte decides this will be her new quest. She will not rest until she knows it all. 

If she stops to think about it, the mystery woman at the Rite-Aid near her school is just icing on top of a very confusing and murky cake.

It started three weeks ago, when Charlotte had asked her Ma for the full names of her grandparents so she could make a family tree for class. 

Her mother had jumped like someone had electrocuted her. “What do you need it for?”

“I’m making a family tree,” Charlotte had replied. “For history? I told you about this last week at dinner.” 

“Can’t you ask your mom, Cj?” 

Charlotte had frowned at the brush off. “Um…I’m gonna,” she’d said huffily. “It’s a whole family tree, not just like a branch. You both have to be on there.”

Jane had rubbed her hand over her face. “Well, you know your grandmother’s name. Laura Grow.” 

“What’s her middle name?” 

“Alizabeth. With an A.” 

“And what about your dad? You and grammy never talk about him. Uncle Frankie never talks about him either.” 

Her mother hadn’t answered right away. Her face went hard and impassive, the way it did when She’d been called to Mason’s school after he’d been given a swirly.

“Frank,” she’d said finally.”

“Francis?” Charlotte had prompted 

“Francesco,” Jane had replied, clipped, almost harsh. “But he doesn’t exist.” 

“What?” Charlotte blinked, confused. “He…” 

Her mother had shaken her head and stood, a sign that the conversation was quickly coming to an end. “He didn’t exist in my life. He…He doesn’t exist in the life I have now. Or yours. Get it?” 

Charlotte had nodded, although she wasn’t sure she got it at all.

……

……

“Grammy,” Charlotte slides into her seat at the dinner table as her grandmother ladles macaroni onto her plate. When her parents work late, it is usually Jane’s mother who watches them. “Mmm?” Her grandmother seems a bit distracted, which is good, Charlotte is hoping to catch her off guard. The encounter at the store is still bothering her, as is Melody’s complete disinterest in the whole thing. 

“Are Mama and Uncle Frankie and Tommy adopted?” 

The ladle slips from her grandmother’s hand and crashes against Mason’s plate, splattering him with cheese sauce. 

“Awesome!” Mason yells happily. 

“Oh, Mason! I’m sorry! No, don’t lick it off your shirt! Go change. I’ll put your plate in the oven to keep it warm.” 

Mason giggles and jumps up from the table, “Don’t bother!” he cries running off through the house towards his room. “Time me!” 

Charlotte waits until her grandmother is looking back at her. 

“I’m sorry, Char. Butterfingers.” 

Charlotte waits a beat, but her grandmother doesn’t say anything else, so she prompts her. 

“Well?” she asks, “Are they?” 

“Are they what?” 

Charlotte sighs, “Mama and Uncle Frankie and Tommy. Did you adopt them?” 

“Why would you ask something like that?” her grandmother disappears into the kitchen and returns with a wet rag to wipe the cheese from the counter. 

Charlotte tries to think of an answer without tipping her hand. 

“You don’t look like Mama,” she says finally, which is not technically true. Then, thinking of a better answer. “And you don’t have Mama’s last name.” 

“Your mother’s last name is her father’s,” Charlotte’s grandmother says. 

“And he’s dead?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you miss him?” Charlotte presses. Her grandmother sighs, flustered. There is a pink tinge to her cheeks that Charlotte wonders the meaning of. 

“How can I have time, with all the questions you ask me?” Her grandmother says, exasperated. 

Charlotte is going to press more, but at that moment her brother returns to the kitchen. 

“Ma-Cah-rooooni!” He cries, throwing himself into his seat. 

Charlotte sighs, picking up her own fork. 

Her grandmother sits down, and there is silence for a bit while everyone eats. 

“How was school?” her grandmother asks her. 

“It was fine. Can we visit his grave?” 

“Hooth Grafe?” Mason asks with his mouth full. 

“Grampas,” Charlotte answers, before the old woman can speak. 

Mason looks at her, confused. “We were just there, stupid,” he says. “Remember?” 

“Don’t call your sister stupid,” Laura says automatically, “and Charlotte, I-”

“Not  _ Grandfather’s  _ grave,” Charlotte interrupts. “Not Mommy’s dad. I’m talking about Ma’s dad. Don’t you think it’s weird, Mase, that no one ever talks about him?” 

Mason crinkles his nose for a moment, and then shrugs. 

“Well I think it’s weird,” she says, looking back at her grandmother. “It’s super weird.” 

“Have you asked your mother about this?” Laura asks, in a fake casual voice that Charlotte has come to recognize from adults with secrets. 

She shakes her head. “No. But I might, when she gets home. Or you could just tell me, and save me the trouble.” She puts on her sweetest smile, and her grandmother chuckles, despite herself. 

“You are something else,” she says. 

“Mama says that,” Charlotte says proudly. “Just tell me. Is it because he’s like…CIA or something?” 

Her grandmother stands, picking up her plate and turning to the sink. “No,” she says with another chuckle. 

“A superhero?” Mason asks excitedly, always ready for a guessing game. 

“No.” 

Charlotte eats a couple more bites of her macaroni, thinking hard. “Oh,” she says, perking up, watching in disgust as her brother licks the remnants of cheese sauce out of his bowl. “Is he a convicted felon? Like a serial murderer or something?” 

There is another silence as Charlotte and her grandmother continue to eat.

“Well?” Charlotte prompts, when it doesn’t seem she is going to get an answer. 

“Well what?” Her grandmother asks her, like she’s forgotten the conversation. 

“Was your husband a convicted felon or something? Is that why no one talks about him?” 

Laura shakes her head. “Honestly Charlotte,” she says exasperatedly, but before she can say anything more, a voice from the hallway makes them all turn. 

“Uh oh, an ‘honestly Charlotte’ this early in the night?” Jane calls. “It sounds like I owe Mommy twenty bucks.”

Her parents appear in the doorway to the dining room, still dressed in their work clothes, looking windswept. 

“Hi Mommy!” Mason calls from his seat. “Hi Ma. Did you catch the guy today?” 

Jane grins as she makes her way over to the pot of macaroni on the stove. “We sure did!” she says. “Your mom did some super fancy microscope work to figure out where I needed to go, too.” 

Maura laughs, as she bends to kiss first Charlotte and then Mason. “That is not the technical term, mind you. You had a good day at school, darlings?” 

Mason nods, Charlotte shrugs. 

“Thanks for making dinner, Ma,” Jane says. “I love your macaroni.” She comes around the kitchen counter and kisses Mason on top of the head. “Hey guys.” 

Charlotte does not get a kiss. “Hey,” she says. “I was just asking Gramma why no one ever talks about my other grandfather.”

Laura looks up at Jane, her expression somewhere between apology and pain. 

“We talk about grandfather all the time. But never grandpa.” 

“He was not in your mother’s life all that much, Charlotte,” Maura says into the tense silence that follows her declaration. 

“You mean he left?” Mason asks. 

“Yes,” Maura says, reaching out to put her hand over Laura’s on the table. “He was not around.” 

“Sorry, Mama,” Mason says.

Jane smiles at him, but it’s not a real smile. She is nervous. She is hiding something. 

“Thanks bud.” 

“How do you know he’s dead then?” Charlotte asks, her voice louder than it should be because of her excitement. “You told me he was dead, Ma. How do you know?” 

Jane shakes her head, but doesn’t answer. 

“Honestly Charlotte,” her grandmother says again. 


	2. Chapter 2

She goes back to the convenience store the next day. She is supposed to wait for Mel at the crossing outside their school, but she bails on her last class five minutes early, and walks the three blocks on her own. She knows that this is wrong. She does it anyway. 

This time, the woman meets her at the door. 

“Jane!” she says, not smiling. “You came back.” 

Charlotte nods slowly. Up close, there is something familiar and unsettling about this woman. Her eyes are open wider than they should be. She stares at Charlotte without blinking. 

“You’re back,” she says again. And then, “I should say more than that, I know…I just…I didn’t think you’d be back.” The woman reaches out and wraps her fingers around Charlotte’s forearm. Too hard.

Melody’s words echo back to Charlotte and a delicate flower of fear blossoms inside of her. 

“I..I wanted you to look at something,” she says quickly, trying not to lose control of the situation. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled snapshot. 

It is her mothers at their high school graduation. It’s the youngest she’s ever seen them, and her resemblance to the brunette detective is striking. 

Angela lets go of Charlotte in order to take the photo in both hands. 

“Oh,” she whispers, and her wide eyes fill with tears. “Oh…this is...wow” 

“That’s my mother,” Charlotte says, finding herself whispering just because the other woman is. 

“Do you know her?” 

The woman’s face seems to clear as she looks at the picture. Her finger comes up to caress Jane’s face slowly. 

“Your…” Her head snaps up to look at Charlotte. “Wait, what? Your what?” 

She seems more lucid now. She runs a hand through her greying hair. “This is…your…”

“My mother,” Charlotte says again. “Do you know her?” 

“Do…I,” Angela shifts the photo into one hand so she can grope in her back pocket for a carton of cigarettes. “Do…” 

“You know my mother? Jane Rizzoli? Is that why you thought I was her?” 

“You’re her,” The woman’s hands are shaking, “You’re…” She finally succeeds in lighting her cigarette. She turns and looks directly at Charlotte, and for a moment it seems like she is going to say something, but then two things happen that make that impossible. 

Melody comes around the corner behind Charlotte, out of breath and looking seriously pissed. 

And the manager of the Rite Aid comes out on the street and yells. “Yo, Angela! Break’s over. Hurry up, there’s a line forming.” 

And Melody yells Charlotte’s name, followed by a string of obscenities. 

“I-I have to go,” they say at the same time. Angela tries to hand the picture back to Charlotte, but she shakes her head. 

“Keep it,” she says as Melody grabs her arm and yanks her away. “Bye!” 

Angela doesn’t answer, Charlotte can feel her eyes on them all the way down the block and around the corner. 

The first thing she does when she gets home is search “Jane Rizzoli” on Google. Her grandmother is working with Mason on his homework in the family room off the kitchen, but Charlotte still takes the laptop into her room and shuts the door. She presses the enter key, and is promptly greeted with a red screen and the message: 

**_This website has been blocked using ParentScope© Please enter password or navigate away from this site._ **

“What?” she asks the screen incredulously. “It’s Google! I’m not searching pornos.” 

She deletes her mother’s name and tries the other.  _ Maura Isles. _

Several articles pop up, the first of which is a news report on a case that was solved due to “Dr. Isles’ extraordinary work.” 

The next few are all medical research published before Charlotte’s birth, then some articles published by Maura in college, and the end of the screen. Charlotte groans when she sees that there are several O’s in the Google icon at the bottom of the page, signaling that there are at least a dozen more pages of results. 

“Hopeless,” she says to herself, and then. “Why mommy, but not Ma?” 

She’s not supposed to have the laptop in her bedroom unattended. She’s supposed to tell her Grandmother when she wants to use it, and when she and Melody are there alone after school, they’re not supposed to touch it at all. 

So Charlotte is ready for the squawk of protest she receives when Melody appears at her doorway, two sodas in hand.

“C.j.!!” she squeals. “We’re not supposed to!” 

Charlotte rolls her eyes. “You know,” she says, “for someone about to get her driver’s license, you are a total wimp.” 

“I won’t get it until I’m thirty if Moms find out I did this,” she complains. 

“Then we’d better move fast, huh? Come over here and look at this.” 

Melody approaches the desk with a look that says she’d rather do anything else in the entire world. She looks over Charlotte’s shoulder at the blocked site and warning. 

“Huh,” she says, leaning a little closer to the screen. She is trying to look surprised, but is not managing it at all. “It doesn’t do that at my house.” 

“Your parents aren’t hiding things from you,” Charlotte says. It does it every time I try to search Mama. Like  _ anything _ about her.” Charlotte says grumpily. “What are they hiding??” 

Melody chews her lip. “They’re not…” she begins, but falls silent at the look Charlotte gives her. 

“Come on, Mel,” Charlotte prods. “I  _ know _ you know. 

“You should ask your parents. I don’t-”

“They’re not going to tell me. You know they’re not. So we’re going to your house to use the internet there.” She’d concocted this plan even before trying the search. She’d known it wouldn’t work, she just wanted Melody to see it.  

Melody shakes her head. “No way,” she says. “If there’s something they don’t want you to know, then I’m sure they have a good reason.” 

Charlotte nods, as if she is accepting this, and then reaches for her sweatshirt, hung over the back of her chair.

“I’ll use the library computers then,” she says resolutely. “Unless it’s something totally gross, the filters won’t...” 

“Why don’t you just  _ ask _ ?” Melody bursts out. She looks on the verge of panic, which is right where Charlotte wants her. They have been best friends, more like sisters, for as long as Charlotte can remember, and she knows exactly which buttons to press in order to get what she wants. Though Melody’s mothers could be described as both fearsome and fearless, their only daughter did not inherit any of that nature. 

Melody taps her foot nervously, looking at Charlotte like she’s trying to read how serious the other girl is about following through on her threat.

“I’m serious, Mel,” Charlotte says, helping her along. “Something’s weird. And I want to know what it is.” 

Melody makes a pleading noise, the way a puppy might when it wants a treat or a walk. “Charlotte,” she draws the younger girl’s name out in a whine. “Please…can’t we just wait until your-”

“No,” Charlotte says. “Now. Your house or the library. You pick.” 

……

……

_ One of her earliest memories is of a white room. Of sitting on a stool, her mother’s hand in her own. Both mothers are there, and the core of this memory is happiness, at having both of them together and to herself. They wait in the white room for what feels like hours. Charlotte is wearing tights and black velvet shoes with tiny silver buckles. She is bored, and then she is hungry.  _

_ Mommy feeds her graham crackers in pieces. She counts them out in English, then in French, then once more in a funny language Charlotte hasn’t heard before.  _

_ “That’s Dutch,” Mommy says.  _

_ They wait, and wait, and wait. And then when the doctor comes in – his white coat brighter than the walls…Something happens to Mama.  _

_ “No,” she says, standing. “No. No.” She turns to Charlotte, holding her arms out in the way that means she’s going to pick her up, and Charlotte grins, mirroring her.  _

_ She loves to be held.  _

_ “Jane.” Mommy’s voice behind her. Mommy’s hand on Mama’s shoulder. “Jane, honey, we need to know that the baby is-”  _

_ “I’m not putting my feet in that. He’s not coming near me with…that thing.”  _

_ Mommy answers the way she does when Charlotte says there are monsters under her bed.  _

_ “Honey.” _

_ Mama holds Charlotte tight, and Charlotte squeezes too. She burrows into her mother’s shoulder. If Mama doesn’t like the white room, Char doesn’t either.  _

_ “No,” Jane says. Maybe her hands tighten on Charlotte’s back.  _

_ Mommy says more in her same soft voice. She has one of her hands on Charlotte’s back, is rubbing circles gently between her shoulder blades, and Charlotte forgets to be afraid.  _

_ “I’ll be right here.”  _

_ “Me too,” Charlotte says automatically, mouth against her mother’s ear. She remembers suddenly the reason for the white room.  _

_ “Time to meet baby brother, Mama!”  _

……

……

Charlotte stares at the screen. At her mother, just a teenager, looking over her shoulder at the camera, eyes bright with unshed tears. Once she gets over the shock of how similar they look, even with her mother three or four years older, once she gets over that, she lets her eyes drop to the headline. 

 

**Mother Guilty On All Charges; Daughter’s Nightmare Ends**

  
  


The article goes on, and on, and Charlotte scrolls and scrolls, eyes widening further at each new paragraph, worse than the next. 

“Jesus,” she says. “Holy…Jesus.”

Melody puts a hand tentatively on her arm. “I think she was just waiting until you were older,” she says quietly. “I think…she didn’t want you to be scared.” 

Charlotte shakes her head, looking for the appropriate words. She is not scared. 

“Gramma’s not my real gramma?” she asks after a moment. 

“Uh,” Melody blinks. “Laura? I…I think she’s the woman who adopted your uncles. When they were little after …” She trails off awkwardly. 

“So that woman in the convenience store,” Charlotte turns to look at Melody. “That woman was Mama’s real mother!” 

“No,” Melody says quickly. “Laura and Constance are your mom’s real parents. Char, didn’t you read any of that? That woman from the convenience store, she’s a total psychopath.” 

“Okay, one,” Charlotte says, “That was like…a million years ago.” She hurries on as Melody looks horrified. “And two,  _ she’s _ not a psychopath. That Hoyt guy is.” 

“C.j.” 

“No, seriously Mel. Think of the lady we saw at the convenience store. Did she seem so scary?” 

Charlotte turns back to the computer, searching for the link she’d seen while reading, but hadn’t clicked on yet. 

“There’s a news story that aired about it,” she says. “Let’s watch that.” 

“No!” Melody reaches out and pulls Charlotte’s hand away from the mouse. “Not that one.” 

“Mel!” Charlotte says, surprised. “C’mon. I know now. There’s nothing left to discover.” She tries to pull out of her friend’s grip. “Melody, let go!” 

“No,” Mel redoubles her hold. “Charlotte, you don’t get it. Stop!” 

“All right,” says a voice from the doorway, and Charlotte and Melody turn to see Alex Cabot in the doorway. Melody looks wholly relieved to see her there, and Charlotte realizes that her friend must have called her mother before they even started their computer search. 

“That’s enough Google for the day, you two, wouldn’t you agree?” Alex says, and although her tone is firm, her face is kind. 

“Let’s turn the computer off.”


	3. Chapter 3

Charlotte rarely hears either mother raise her voice. She sits next to Melody on the stairs, out of sight of their parents, and from the look on her face, she is not used to hearing her parents yell either. 

“You have to do something Alex,” Jane is yelling. “I swear to God, if she comes near my kids I will arrest her ass so fast that-”

“For what, Jane?” Olivia’s voice, loud enough to be heard. “For doing her job at a store our kids just happened to be in?” 

“I can’t believe you told your parents?” Charlotte whispers to Melody. They are huddled at the top of the stairs listening to the grown-ups talking. 

Melody shakes her head. “You don’t get it,” she says, and Charlotte is about to reply back that she would get it if people would just start  _ talking  _ to her, but then Jane’s voice is loud again, and she forgoes her retort in order to listen. 

“So Max and Jacob know too?” 

There is a very pregnant pause. 

“Yes,” Alex says finally. “We told them when they were children.” 

“You…” Charlotte has never heard her mother speechless before. 

“Jane,” Maura speaks up quietly. “This is not a betray-”

“How could you not tell me? How could you just let me…” 

“Just let you what, Jane?” Olivia now, reasonable and firm. “Let you love and babysit and adore our kids? Let them adore and love you?  _ Regardless _ of your past?” 

Jane does not answer, and Charlotte hears Maura’s heels, the quick  _ clickclack _ as she crosses the room. 

“Jane, honey, Charlotte is not going to see you any differently. Mason is not going to see you any differently. You’re still their mother, still unbreakable, still the dragon they used to ride through-”

“I don’t want her near them.” 

“She doesn’t pose any threat to them, Jane. You heard what they said at the hearing. You heard her therapist-”

“I’m  _ not _ overreacting.” 

“No one says you are, sweetheart,” Maura says. “No one thinks that. We’re just trying to-”

But there is the sound of shuffling, Alex’s voice rising in protest, and then the sound of a door opening and closing. 

“Well,” Maura, with a sigh. 

“That went better than we thought it would, right?” Alex, and Charlotte can almost picture the trademark half smile. 

“I’ve been trying to get her to address it for months.  _ Months _ .” This is Olivia, sounding pained. “She wouldn’t even hear of it.” 

“I know,” Maura again. “Mason was her excuse, but it’s getting harder and harder to justify keeping it. They’re both old enough to know now. 

“Speaking of which,” Alex says with a chuckle, “Girls! We know you’re up there listening. Come on down.” 

Melody and Charlotte glance at each other guiltily before they stand and descend the rest of the stairs, rounding the corner to face their parents.

Melody goes straight to Olivia and wraps her arms around her mother’s waist, saying something into her sweater that sounds like “I’m sorry.” 

Olivia kisses the top of her head. 

Alex and Maura are sitting on the couch, and Maura pats the spot beside her softly. “Come here, darling,” she says. 

Charlotte shakes her head. “Uh uh. You’re just going to lie to me again.” 

Maura raises her eyebrows, looking a little hurt. “I understand that you probably have a lot of questions. And I’m happy to-”

“Why did mama storm out?” she asks cutting across Maura’s soft voice. “Why isn’t she here?” 

It’s Alex who answers. “Your mother has a difficult time talking about this period in her life.” 

“I’m her kid,” Charlotte argues. “And she lied directly to my face. Isn’t she doing the same thing to me that her mother did?” 

Maura’s face goes blank, the way it sometimes does when she and Jane have a very difficult case at work. 

“No,” she says simply. “She’s not.” 

“She  _ lied _ to me,” Charlotte persists. She looks around at Olivia, still holding onto Melody. “You never lied to Mel.” 

“What happened to your mother didn’t happen to any of us, Char,” Olivia says softly. “She gets to decide who she tells. It wasn’t our place to decide. 

“So everyone knows  _ except _ me.” 

“That’s not how it happened, Charlotte,” Maura says, though her face has hardened slightly. “She was trying to keep you safe.” 

“Well she failed,” Charlotte says. She is aware that this might be a little harsh, but the attention and drama of the moment have her on some sort of high. “I feel totally betrayed. I feel like I can’t trust my parents so, great job.” 

“That will do,” Alex says, and her voice is the one she uses when she is finished with nonsense, and Charlotte has no choice but to be silent.

“Charlotte, I know it may seem difficult to understand that this has been kept from you. But you do not get to assume that it was something done out of spite or malice. It was a very,  _ very  _ difficult time for your mother. It was a long time before she was able to discuss it with anyone, and when she does sit down to discuss it with you, whether that time is this evening, or three years from now, you will treat her with the respect and sensitivity that the subject deserves.” 

No one who has any desire to live past her next birthday would ever dare to disagree with Alex Cabot, not when she uses that voice. 

……

_ Charlotte looks from the diagram, to her parents, and back again.  _

_ “Do you have any questions, darling?”  _

_ Charlotte frowns. “I guess,” she says after a second. “I guess I don’t understand like…how the baby comes out.”  _

_ Jane crosses her legs. She looks a little sick to her stomach, Charlotte thinks.  _

_ “The baby comes out through the vaginal opening,” her mother says easily. “I know it seems like an impossible thing, but the female’s body is truly amazing.”  _

_ Charlotte looks back at the diagram, tilting her head slightly. “So, when you had me, I came down this, uh,”  _

_ “Canal,” Maura supplies, nodding. “Yes! Seven pounds, three ounces. Howling like your life depended on it.”  _

_ “Did it hurt?”  _

_ Charlotte watches her mother consider this. “At the time, yes. I thought there was nothing that could possibly hurt that much. But then they put you in my arms, and I decided it was nothing at all.”  _

_ Charlotte looks to her other mother, who seems to only be physically present. “Ma?” she has to call several times. “Ma!”  _

_ Jane’s head jumps up. “Yeah, Char?” _

_ “Did it hurt to have Mason?”  _

_ Maura puts her hand on Jane’s knee. “I had an epidural,” Jane says, her voice breaking a little. “It felt like pressure, but that’s all.”  _

_ “Some women decide to do natural childbirth,” Maura interjects. “Some choose to have pain killers. Other’s have C-sections. It really depends on the woman.”  _

_ Charlotte nods, and leans forward to turn the page to the next diagram. It is three weeks after her eleventh birthday, and this imparting of knowledge seems to be a kind of belated birthday gift.  _

_ “When will my period come?” she asks.  _

_ “It’s different for everyone, darling.”  _

_ “When did you get yours, Ma?” _

_ Jane swallows. “Uh, I was seventeen.”  _

_ Charlotte looks down at the diagram and the tiny words printed below it. She reads for a moment.  _

_ “Were you sick?”  _

_ Jane blinks. She looks unsure of the question.  _

_ “Those age ranges are just an estimate. Some girls mature later than others,” Maura says with a smile. “You might be like your mother and get yours late, or you might be different, and get yours in a few years.”  _

_ Charlotte sighs, leaning back into the plush cushions of the couch. “Well, that I can do without, but I hope my boobs come in soon.”  _

_ “Why would you want that?” her Ma asks flippantly. Charlotte sees Maura’s hand squeeze on Jane’s knee.  _

_ “When Melody’s boobs came in, she said guys wanted to talk to her like, 24/7,” Charlotte explains. This answer does not get the reaction she was expecting however. Jane looks at her like she’s turned into an alien.  _

_ “Boys?” she asks, as though the word is foreign to her.  _

_ Charlotte looks to her other mother for help. “Uh, yeah, Ma,” she says sarcastically. “You know...boys? Like...the other half of the population?”  _

_ “I think-” Maura begins, but Jane cuts across her, looking angry.  _

_ “You’re too young to be thinking about boys,” she says loudly.  _

_ Maura shakes her head. “Jane. I don’t think that Charlotte-” _

_ “Uh, Earth to mom?” Charlotte interrupts. “Like four of my friends have boyfriends.”  _

_ This is not, technically speaking, the truth, seeing as how Amanda broke up with Nathan on Friday, and Leah has yet to check ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on the paper Logan shoved in her hand before the bus picked them all up.  _

_ “They have what?” Jane’s voice is only rising. Charlotte can feel her own irritation starting to mount as well. What did her mother think would happen when she grew up.  _

_ “Yeah,” she says, “And Mel’s already like...kissed a boy with tongue.” Also, in actual reality, a lie. Scott had tried, Melody had told her, but she hadn’t wanted to, and he’d ended up licking her face like a labrador. _

_ “Go to your room,” Jane says abruptly.  _

_ “What?” Charlotte stares wide eyed at her mother.  _

_ “Wait,” Maura says, hands out. “Hold on. This-” _

_ “Go to your room. No phone.”  _

_ Charlotte’s mouth drops open. This is a  _ _ punishment _ _. She’s being  _ _ punished _ _ , and she does not have the slightest clue as to why. “What did I do?”  _

_ “Jane,” Maura says, a little desperately. “She’s not-” _

_ “No boys,” Jane says, standing. “No boys. Not yet.”  _

_ “Mom!”  _

_ “Jane, honey, look at me.” _

_ “You’re too young to be talking about boobs, and boys, and...sex. You’re too young.”  _

_ Charlotte is furious. She jumps to her feet too, and points her finger straight at her mother’s chest. “You can’t punish me for becoming a woman!” she yells. “You can’t stop me from liking boys, and you can’t keep me in my room for the rest of my life either!”  _

_ She rushes from the room before either mother can answer, more to hide her embarrassed, angry tears, than because she wants to be alone.  _

_ She pounds up the stairs and into her room, making sure to slam the door extra hard.  _

_ It does not occur to her until much later that she has ended up exactly where Jane wanted her.  _

_ In her room.  _

……

She tells them that night. 

Maura brings Charlotte home, and Jane is there with Mason, and they all sit down in the living room, and Jane tells them the story of how she came to live with Maura’s family. 

She recites the whole thing in a slow, lifeless voice, and though Charlotte watches her face for any flicker of memory, any flash of remorse or regret, she doesn’t see one. The idea that she was barred from this information, and now might be barred from the emotions behind it makes her feel angry all over again. 

“He’s dead though,” Mason says timidly, when she’s done. “So he can’t come after us?”    
Maura nods, reaching out to take his hand. “He’s gone. And no one will ever hurt you. Mama and I would never let that happen.” 

“Because you’re adults now,” Mason says, sounding reassured. 

“That’s right,” Maura says. She kisses his hand. 

“So...did you know that your real mom is working at Rite-Aid right in the square, Ma?” 

Jane’s shoulders are as tense as Charlotte has ever seen, including the times when she’s on duty. 

“No,” Jane says heavily. “I didn’t know that.” 

“Well, you’re gonna go talk to her, right?” 

For the second time that day, Jane looks at her daughter like she has three heads. “No,” she says in the same slow voice she’s been using all night. “I’m not.” 

“Why? She’s our grandmother, isn’t she? And she seemed to-” 

“Laura Grow is your grandmother.” 

“Not by blood,” Charlotte says reasonably. “That woman, Angela. She’s our blood Grandmother.” 

“Charlotte,” Maura says. “Angela went to jail for a long time. She is not blameless in what happened to your mother.” 

Charlotte ponders this, trying to reconcile the greying, glassy eyed woman from the convenience store with the monster painted in her mother’s story. 

“Is she gonna try to take us, and give us away?” Mason asks now. He is such a baby, Charlotte thinks. He really doesn’t get anything. 

“No one’s gonna take you away, Mase,” Jane says gruffly. “Mommy and I work hard to make sure you guys are safe. And Alex and Olivia do too, okay?” 

Mason leans against Jane’s side. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” he says quietly. 

Jane smiles, just a tiny bit. “Thanks, bud.” 

Maura looks at Charlotte expectantly. 

“Yeah,” C.j. says. “I guess it explains a lot.” 

There is silence for a long, long moment. Maura is looking at her, a combination of sorrow and anger that makes Charlotte’s stomach twist for the space of a second. 

“Explains what?” Jane asks. She is looking at Charlotte too, her dark eyes intense and searching. 

“How you are,” Charlotte says. 

Maura closes her eyes. “Charlotte,” she murmurs, like a plea.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Charlotte says hurriedly. “I mean...not always. It sucks that you never let me do anything. But I guess I get it now. It’s not just because you’re a cop.” 

“I don’t let you do anything?” It is not really a question, but Charlotte takes the opening. 

“Yeah. Like last week, I couldn’t hang out with my friends at the mall. You said it was too dangerous.” 

“It  _ is _ dangerous,” Jane growls. 

“It was me and five other people. We were in a group!” 

“You’re too young to be hanging out without super-” 

“I’m not too young!” Charlotte cries. “You’re just scared I’ll get, like, abducted and raped.” 

Jane flinches at the word. It makes C.j. feel a stab of satisfaction. 

“Charlotte!” Maura says. 

“Mama?” Mason says, and his voice is high and scared. “Ma?” 

“That’s enough,” Jane says. “I’m sorry if you don’t agree with our rules, C.j., but Mom and I put them there so-”

“ _ You  _ put them there!” Charlotte yells. “And it’s not just the stupid rules, Ma! It’s why you never want to talk to me about anything. It’s why you never let me and Mason get into bed with you when we had bad dreams.” 

Jane looks at Maura, clearly at a loss. “That’s...not a thing?!” she says. Her tone is have accusatory, half question.

“It’s a thing,” Charlotte says. “But you got broken, so we had to suffer.” 

The words are out before she knows if they accurately reflect her feelings, and if she lets the doubt show on her face it is only for the space of second.    
And neither of her mother sees. 

Jane turns away from Charlotte as though she’s been struck, turning in on herself in her armchair, hands coming to cover her face, and Maura makes a sound like someone stepping on a mouse. No one answers her. 

Mason looks between his parents, and then around to Charlotte, his eyes wide and scared. He’s never seen either of their parents speechless, and he’s definitely never seen Jane in such obvious pain. 

“Look,” she says quietly, because regret is already starting to gather in the lower part of her stomach. “I don’t mean to sound like I don’t care.” 

“Oh you don’t?” Maura’s voice is icy. She hasn’t moved to comfort her wife, who remains curled in a small ball in the couch. The posture makes a thrill of worry shoot up Charlotte’s spine. She wonders if she has gone too far. 

“Enlighten us, Charlotte Jane,” Maura continues. “What  _ do _ you mean to sound like.” 

“I just mean...I just mean if it were me, and I knew that my mother, my  _ real _ mother, was only like three miles-”

“I DON’T WANT HER ANYWHERE NEAR US!” Jane bursts upward from the chair, as though she has been preparing herself for this explosion. As though her turning inwards was really a coiling of tension and fury. 

She stands in front of Charlotte, who has stood too, automatically, and she shakes her finger in her face. 

“You are not hungry,” she says, spacing every word out so evenly that she sounds almost like a robot. “You are not cold. You and your brother don’t worry about your parents losing their jobs. You don’t worry about having a gym uniform, or shoes that fit. You go to sleep in your own beds. You’ve never had cereal with water instead of milk. You have never hidden from me, from Mama,  _ anywhere _ in this house.” 

She takes a breath, and steps forward, so that they are inches apart. “Charlotte,” she says, “I am so mad at you right now that I’m shaking.” 

Charlotte nods. She can see that. 

“Are you afraid that I’ll hurt you?” Jane asks softly. 

The question is absurd, and that she thinks so must show on her face, because Jane nods before she can answer. 

She turns away, headed toward the door. 

“Yeah,” she says. “That’s what I thought.” 

Maura watches her go, her hands fists by her sides. When the door slams in the hallway, Charlotte watches her mother take in a breath that she’s unable to let out. Her eyes are full of tears that haven’t yet spilled over until Mason puts his hand on her arm and she looks down at him. Then the tears run down her cheeks to her chin. 

“Mommy?” 

Maura swallows visibly. “It’s alright,” she says, wrapping him up in a one armed hug. “She’s okay. Everyone’s okay.” 

“Why did she ask if Char was afraid of her?” Mason asks. 

Maura cups his face in her hands for a brief moment, then she kisses his nose. “She was very scared of her mother,” she answers after a while. “When you were in her tummy, when C.j. was in mine, she promised that neither of you would ever have one minute where you were afraid of what she might do.” 

Maura looks at Charlotte, still standing, heart beating hard though she’s not sure exactly why. 

“It’s a good thing,” Maura continues, when Mason still looks confused. “It’s a wonderful thing that she’s given you, that you don’t even have the capacity to understand how lucky you are. She was hoping to keep that understanding away from you, for a few more years at least.” 

There is still one ounce of defiance left inside of Charlotte. She thinks the thought, and she says it. She cannot help it. 

“Then it’s Mama’s fault for not showing us why we should be grateful,” she says, though without the edge of accusation she might have been trying for. “It’s not our fault we don’t get it.” 

Maura beckons her over, and when Charlotte is close enough, puts her lips against her temple. She hums thoughtfully. 

“I love you, Charlotte,” she says right against her ear. “Do you know I love you more than anything in this world?” 

Charlotte nods, even though this seems a very odd thing to say. 

……

…… 

_ Charlotte is six. She is learning to read. Mama sits her on her lap and points at the words and Charlotte reads them one by one. “The. Dog. Barks. All. Day. Long. Bark. Bark. Bark.”  _

_ Mama is proud, Charlotte can tell. She reads each page, and at the end of each one she gets a squeeze.  _

_ “Maura, come see her read! She’s like a genius.”  _

_ Mommy is in the doorway, bundle of baby brother in her arms. She’s proud too, and she kisses Charlotte first, then Mama.  _

_ She says, “I told you, honey. Smart like her Mama. Just a little carbon copy.”  _

_ Charlotte is Carbon Copy Jane.  _

_ Charlotte is funsize. Mini me. She revels in the attention.  _

_. _

_ Charlotte is eight. The principal calls Ma and Mom into the office. Ma asks her what she’s done, whispers the question as they head into the office.  _

_ Charlotte doesn’t know. She follows her parents into the room, and sits between them. She is so nervous that she almost misses it when the principal says she should be moved into the higher level math.  _

_ She almost misses it when Ma leans forward and asks him to repeat himself.  _

_ She doesn’t miss it when Jane whoops, loud enough to make the principal sits back in his chair. Mama pulls Charlotte out of her seat and onto her lap, kissing the side of her face, laughing.  _

_ Mommy is laughing too, but crying. She tells the principal that it is a long story.  _

_ “We have a lot to celebrate,” she says. “We’re just very, very proud of her.”  _

_. _

_ Charlotte is thirteen. She is on the honor roll. She has a birthday party in the basement playroom of her house. She hands out fifteen invitations, and everybody attends.  _

_ There are balloons and punch. They lounge on the couches and watch PG-13 movies. They eat popcorn and talk about the boys they think are cute. _

_ She brings the empty cookie plate up to the kitchen in the middle of the second movie. It is 10:00pm, long after Mason’s bedtime.  _

_ Mama and Mom are in the kitchen, and as Charlotte watches, Jane grabs Maura around the waist, pulling her close, planting a kiss on her neck that makes her shriek with laughter.  _

_ Charlotte rolls her eyes, plunking the plate down on the kitchen island.  _

_ “We’re out of cookies,” she says.  _

_ Her parents don’t move. They are swaying together to the music playing from the little radio by the microwave, Jane’s head resting on Maura’s shoulder, arms still around her waist.  _

_ “Ummm, guys?” Charlotte says. Cookies?”  _

_ “Hang on, smalls,” Jane says. “I promised Mommy that any time this song comes on, she gets a dance.”  _

_ Maura laughs. “A promise is a promise.”  _

_ Charlotte clicks her teeth impatiently. “The next movie’s  gonna start soon. Cookies!”  _

_ An eyebrow raise is all she gets from Jane.  _

_ “Please,” Charlotte amends quickly. “C’mon! It’s my birthday.”  _

_ The song is fading slowly, so Jane pulls away from Maura and comes around the island to life Charlotte off her feet. “My big, little me!” she says. “Growing up soo fast!”  _

_ “MA!” Charlotte squirms out of her mother’s arms and throws the best glare she is capable of. “God!”  _

_ Jane will not be deterred. She blows a raspberry on Charlotte’s cheek. “You’ll always be my baby!” she says in a sing song voice.  _

_ “God, stop being such a perv,” Charlotte says. “I’m gonna have to wear a rape whistle in this house.”  _

_ She leaves the kitchen eleven minutes later, plate of cookies in hand.  _

_ She doesn’t notice that the music has stopped.  _

_ There is no more laughing.  _


	4. Chapter 4

Charlotte skips her last period class. She feels a little twinge of apprehension, but she wipes it away with the reasoning that it is only P.E., and what she has to do is much more important. 

The Rite Aid is more crowded than the last time she was there, and she has to wait almost fifteen minutes to talk to Angela. 

“Did you come by yourself?” 

Charlotte nods. “When is your shift done?” she asks, “do you want to go somewhere and talk?” 

Angela stares at her. “You want to talk with me?” 

“Yeah,” Charlotte says. “When do you have a break?” 

“Now,” Angela says, stepping out from behind the counter. “I can go now.” 

This is most probably a lie, but Charlotte doesn’t say anything. Angela motions that she should wait where she is, and Charlotte watches as she hurries down an aisle and out of sight. 

In the five minutes that her mother’s real mother is gone, Charlotte begins to have second thoughts. What is she really doing there anyway? Why had she been so determined to see this woman again?

If she is honest with herself, her curiosity about her grandmother lies in her unflinching belief that her mothers have been keeping more from her than just a history of child abuse. The things that happened to her Ma are decades in the past, and from what C.j. can see, everything has turned out fine.  _ More _ than fine, even. 

So why is it that Jane has no interest in meeting with her mother? 

What more could her parents be hiding? 

Charlotte is sure that the greying, nervous looking woman hurrying toward her now holds the answers to her questions. She can tell Charlotte everything she wants to know, and that is why she was kept a secret. 

“Ready?” Angela asks, as she approaches. “We can go to the little coffee shop across the street, or, if you don’t have any money-”

“I have money,” Charlotte says, patting her pocket. “Let’s go.” 

……

They sit in silence for a long time. Charlotte stares at the plastic tabletop, trying to think of something to say that will get the conversation started. She hadn’t thought out her plan much past getting to the Rite-Aid to see Angela again, and now that the initial shock of discovery has worn off, she feels awkward and slightly out of place. Like she is sitting with a stranger. 

“You look just like her,” Angela says suddenly. Charlotte looks up at her. “You could be her clone.” 

“Yeah,” Charlotte smiles. “Mom used to call me ‘funsize,’ like, because I look like just a smaller version of her.” 

Angela nods. “So that’s why she sent you, then? Because she knew I’d recognize you?” 

“What?” Charlotte is caught off guard by the trace of bitterness in her voice. “No,” she says quickly. “No one sent me.” 

Angela makes a disbelieving sound that could have come out of Charlotte’s own mouth. “Right,” she says. “Like she hasn’t been grooming you for this moment for your whole entire life.” 

Charlotte stares at her. “She hasn’t,” she says honestly. “I swear.” 

“So she never told you that I’m a horrible person?” 

“No.” 

“So what excuse does she tell you, for why you’ve never met me?” Angela throws the question out as though she knows this will be the one that Charlotte cannot answer. 

“She’s never said anything about you, not that you were horrible, or dead, or anything. I didn’t even know you existed until two days ago.” 

Now it is Angela’s turn to stare. “Huh?” 

“She never told me about you,” Charlotte repeats. “She never told me about...any of it.” 

Angela frowns, clearly thrown. “Nothing?” 

“Nothing,” Charlotte confirms. “I guess I never really asked.” 

“Why wouldn’t she tell you?” Angela seems to be wondering aloud more than asking, and then suddenly her eyes go wide. 

“Did that rich family finally rid themselves of her?” 

Charlotte blinks in confusion. “Rich...family?” 

Angela nods, watching her face closely, like she’s looking for confirmation. “Yeah. After she got Charles shot, she moved in with this rich family. They had a girl her age, and she had the whole family convinced they were in love. Got the mother to cry on the stand to the jury about the right way to raise a kid. Like she would know.” 

Charlotte’s brain seems to have stalled. “Are...you talking about my mom?” she asks slowly. She is trying to remember the news article she’d read in Melody’s room, trying to remember what her mother had told her in the living room when she’d gotten home. 

_ I lived with Mom...until we got our own place. The Isles and the Grows are our family, Char. That woman...she’s just not. Okay? _

Charlotte had been certain that this was not the whole story. She looks up into the lined face of the woman across from her, so familiar and so foreign. Angela studies Charlotte as well, for a long while, until finally dropping her eyes to her coffee and taking a sip.

“So, if she didn’t send you to accuse me of some other atrocious act, or to rip some other precious thing from my life, then why are you here?” 

Charlotte’s hands around her own paper cup are clammy. “Precious thing?” she asks. “You mean Mama?” 

Angela scoffs. “Yeah, right.” she looks up, and sees that Charlotte is serious. “No,” she says incredulously. “I mean my boys.” 

For a moment, Charlotte is blank. “Boys?” 

“Yes!” Angela says, more loudly now. “My boys. Frankie! Tommy! I lost my rights when I went to prison. And even when I got out they wouldn’t see me. She poisoned them against me. They don’t want anything to do with me.” 

Her uncles. Charlotte bites her lip hard to keep from crying out in surprise. This woman is not only her mother’s mother, she is the mother of her uncles as well. 

For the first time, a little bit of anger swells inside Charlotte. “Maybe they chose not to see you on their own,” she says darkly. 

Angela looks genuinely hurt at this suggestion. “Why would they not want to see me? I gave them everything. I’m their  _ mother _ .”

Charlotte opens her mouth to respond, and then she shuts it again. She does not know what she was expecting, coming here, but it is certainly not this. 

“Maybe you could talk to them,” Angela says suddenly, her eyes lighting up. “Yeah,” she smiles, and for this first time since they sat down, Charlotte is a little bit afraid. “You could talk to my boys for me.” 

She had felt betrayed by her mother. She’d thought her mother had been wrong to keep this secret from her. “No,” she says quietly. “I can’t.” 

“You don’t know them?” Angela asks urgently. “Your mother doesn’t let you talk to them either?” 

Charlotte looks up, irritated. “What? Of course she does. I see them all the time.” 

“Then why-”

“I’m not gonna talk to them because I don’t  _ want _ to. They have a mother.” My Grammy, Charlotte thinks. Has Jane told her about C.j.’s reaction yet? 

“I’m their mother,” Angela says, her voice rising again.    
“You gave their sister to some gross psychopath,” Charlotte replies, just as loudly. She can see the couple at the table behind Angela turn to look at them. 

“I made a mistake,” Angela hisses, and for a moment Charlotte feels the balm of mollification. The woman in front of her, not a grandmother at all, but at least she can admit that she was wrong. “I made a fucking mistake,” Angela says again. “The next time, I made sure he remembered a condom, but it was already too late, wasn’t it?” 

It takes Charlotte a long, blank second to understand Angela’s meaning. 

“You’re too young,” Angela continues, with a cool, appraising look at Charlotte. “You don’t know the kinds of mistakes girls make in cars at night. But a word of advice for if you’re ever in my spot,” she leans in toward Charlotte, her voice dropping low and conspiratorial. “Drown the little shit while you have the chance. That way they don’t come back and tie you up for crimes you didn’t have any part in at all.” 

It is too vile. It does not compute. 

Charlotte stares, open mouthed and fuming, too appalled and too ashamed and too heartbroken to say anything. 

And she doesn’t have a chance anyway. There is a deafening boom from behind them, as the door bursts inwards and two policemen charge into the little cafe, hands on their holsters. 

“Boston PD. No one move!” 

Charlotte whirls in her seat, despite the command, and looks into the eyes of her mother’s best friend, Barry Frost, and his partner, Riley. 

The conversation is over. 

…….

The person that enters the cafe after Angela has been escorted out is not Jane or Maura. It’s not Laura, and it’s not Frankie or Tommy.    
Charlotte watches in horror as Frost holds the door open for Constance Isles, and the old woman makes her way slowly to the table where C.j. sits, waving Frost away when he tries to pull out her chair. 

“Grandma,” Charlotte says when Constance has settled herself. “I can explain.” 

“I’ll wait outside for you, Mrs. Isles,” Frost says quietly. 

Constance shakes her head. “Not necessary. I called Charlie on the way, and he’s agreed to drop us at Jane’s when we’ve finished our chat.” 

Charlotte feels her heart sink. 

“You’re sure?” Frost asks uncertainly. 

“Yes, Barold, I’m sure. Thank you for your assistance tonight.” Her grandma is the only one allowed to call Frost, Barold, although Maura gets a pass every once in awhile. 

“I’ll call Jane and let her know C.j.’s safe,” Frost says, as though Charlotte isn’t right there.

“Thank you,” Constance turns to look at her granddaughter. She folds her hands on the table. 

“I can explain,” Charlotte says again. “I just wanted to know what-”

“Charlotte Jane,” Constance cuts her off smoothly “I do not want to hear what you have to say at the moment.” 

Her grandmother is the only one who can get away with calling her ‘Charlotte Jane’ 100% of the time. “Yes ma’am,” C.j. whispers. “I just want to say I learned my lesson.” 

Constance sighs. She reaches out to put her hand over Charlotte’s on the table. “No, you haven’t, darling, although that is not your fault. You are your mother’s daughter, through and through. You are exactly who she would have been if she’d been raised for her entire life by someone who simply adored her.”

Charlotte swallows the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she says. 

Constance nods. “I know,” she says. “And that will not make everything right immediately. But it will help in the long run.” 

“Grandma,” Charlotte searches Constance’s face. “Why didn’t Mama just tell me?” 

Constance squeezes Charlotte’s hand. She closes her eyes for a long second, and when she opens them, she looks over Charlotte’s head, like the story she’s about to tell is projected in the air. 

“The first time I spoke to Angela Rizzoli, her daughter had been in my house for almost two weeks. She was too skinny, too timid. She never looked anyone in the eye. She didn’t think we noticed, but every time she came into a room, she looked around for the exits, like she was planning an escape,” Constance shakes her head. “It was clear to your grandfather and I that she needed a safe place to stay. That she needed protection. 

“So I called her mother one morning, to ask for custody of Jane so that we could take care of her until Angela could return for her. I remember our conversation exactly, because of the way my heart felt when it had ended.” 

Constance looks around to see if Charlotte is still listening. 

“I told Angela in no uncertain terms that the man she’d left her daughter with was abusing her. Horrendously, that was the word I used. I told her that she should return to care for her, or that she should let my husband and I have temporary custody until she could afford to bring her out there.

“Angela listened to my proposition without interruption, and then, I will not forget this as long as I live, she said ‘no.’” 

Charlotte waits for more, but more doesn’t come. “That’s it?” 

Constance nods. “That was it. I said, ‘what do you mean, no?’ I thought I’d misheard. I thought she was only speaking about the last part of my suggestion. I asked her what she meant. 

“She told me I could not ‘have’ her daughter, because ‘Mr. Hoyt already owned her.’ That was what she told me.” 

Charlotte feels her stomach heave with hatred. Constance looks a little ill as well. 

“I told her that Jane was in danger. That she was close to starvation when we found her. I told her that she was scared, and lonely, and would be happier with her family. I told Angela that her daughter needed her.”

Constance puts a hand to the bridge of her nose. Charlotte does not want to hear Angela’s response, but she is powerless to stop the story.    
“Angela told me that what she needed was the money.” 

Charlotte hates to cry, but she is unable to stop the tears as they escape from her eyes and roll down her cheeks. Constance produces a tissue from her purse and holds it out. 

“It was that day I made a promise to both of your mothers. I promised them that I would love them both unconditionally. That I would be the best mother that either could ask for, if they would give me the chance.” Constance waits until Charlotte is done blowing her nose. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, Charlotte Jane?” 

Her grandmother is not a woman who takes kindly to lying. Charlotte shakes her head. 

“It was not your mothers’ jobs to parent themselves. They should not have had to take on the responsibility of growing up too fast. Maura should not have been as alone as she was, and Jane should not have been beaten, not once. But they were, and they became who they are because of the way their parents shaped them.” 

Charlotte bites her lip, not wanting to say she is still confused. 

Constance smiles. “You were raised by women who wanted to do right by you. Who have adored you from the moment you screamed your way into the world, and who are too lenient with you in fear of the hurt they know a parent can cause.

“Why didn’t your mama tell you, darling? You must understand the burden she was trying to keep away from you. Not just the ugly parts of the world, or the knowledge that children can be so utterly failed by their parents, but the very real possibility that  _ your _ mother’s DNA dictates that she will fail  _ you. _ ” 

Charlotte stares at her grandmother, who looks back at her, clear blue eyes piercing her. Charlotte wonders momentarily if Constance has the ability to see into her mind. 

“Why do you think it was Frost, and not your mother who came after you tonight? If you want to see the woman who birthed your mother, she’s not going to try and stop you, no matter the cost to her. That is the kind of parent she wants to be.” 

Charlotte shakes her head. “I want to go home,” she says, voice still heavy from crying. “Grandma, I just want to go see Ma.” 

And Constance sets her mouth in a thin line, concentrating on pushing herself up from the chair, shooing the young man nearby who reaches out an arm to help her. 

“Let’s go, little girl,” she says. 

When Constance Isles commands it, one must obey.


	5. Chapter 5

_ It takes the camera a moment to focus on the podium, but when it does Jane is instantly recognizable. She stands in front of the microphone, clutching a piece of notebook paper in both hands.  _

_ In the foreground, it is possible to see the backs of people’s heads. All eyes are apparently on the teenage Jane, who stands alone in the bright white of the little stage lights.  _

_ The camera shakes a little, and a deep whisper comes out of nowhere, very close to the microphone.  _

_ “Maybe this was too soon, Connie,” the voice says. “Maybe we should-”  _

_ “Hush, Richard,” Constance whispers back. “We spoke about this extensively. She is determined.” _

_ As if she knows they are discussing her, Jane turns her head slightly and looks directly into the lens. Her expression is a valiant attempt at suppressing panic.  _

_ “Come on, sweetheart,” Constance murmurs. “You can do this.”  _

_ Whatever is in Constance’s face seems to strengthen Jane, and she turns to the silent audience again, taking a breath.  _

_ “Ladies and Gentlemen. My name is Jane Rizzoli.” Jane glances down at her paper, and a pink tinge appears in her cheeks. “I mean, uh, thank you, for coming tonight. My name...I mean, it really means a lot to us - to me!- that you are all here.” Another glance in Constance’s direction, another breath. “I’m sorry,” Jane says, more relaxed. “I’m really nervous. This isn’t, this hasn’t ever been my thing.”  _

_ The crowd rumbles a bit in laughter, and it is possible to tell from the level of the sound that the seating area is full, and large.  _

_ “Mom, uh, Constance, she told me that this benefit is sort of because of me. That’s why she asked me to speak. She wanted me to tell you what it was like to live in, well, I guess, in the situation that I used to live in.”  _

_ Jane looks back down at her paper, even though it’s clear she’s no longer reading whatever she had prepared.  She frowns. “It’s really impossible though,” she says, her voice softer but still clear in the silent hall. “I can’t tell you what it was like. Words like bad, and scared, and-and lonely, don’t really apply. I wish they had a way to amplify words the way we can amplify sound. And color! Then I could do what was asked of me.”  _

_ The audience chuckles again, and there is Jane’s signature smirk. Her hands loosen around the paper she’s holding, just a little bit.  _

_ “So. I had a prepared statement for you, about all the things that I went through. But if you were conscious and in Boston a couple years ago, then you already know those things. And I was also going to tell you about child abuse statistics in America today. But you probably already know those, and want to help, or you wouldn’t have paid a hundred bucks a plate.”  _

_ “Constance?” the deep whisper again.  _

_ “Shh, Richard.” Constance answers quickly.  _

_ “Anyway, I wanted to speak, because mom - Constance - asked me to. So I wrote this, uh, I don’t know. Maura called it a poem. It’s...maybe an attempt.”  _

_ There is more laughter, and Jane laughs too. It is not her full, boisterous, adult laugh, but a smaller, just born version.  _

_ “I wanted to show you what one person doing something, just one person stepping in means to the person they help. I, uh, so here’s what I wrote. And I hope it makes you want to help.”  _

_ The silence as Jane looks back down at her paper is so complete that it could be the sound on the camera failing for just a moment.  _

_ Jane clears her throat.  _

_.  _

 

_ I tell her the cold is like a Raven.  _

_ And it follows wherever I go. I can tell that she’s looking at me. _

_ I can’t look back.  _ _   
_ _ I say: It goes where I go. It knows.   _

 

_ Here are the things I don’t tell her: My chest might cave in.  _

_ I am scared. I feel so alone.  _

_ There’s a secret spot on the inside of my heart _

_ That breaks when I hear the voice  _

_ Of my brother on the end of the phone _

 

_ And why should she worry about anything? Let alone me,  _

_ And my staying alive _

_ There is a galaxy of stars, and I’m just one _

_ How could she know I  _

_ Slice up _

_ Each day into  _

_ Pieces. And handle them. Go on. Survive.  _

 

_ Rules: Don’t wonder. Don’t try to understand all  _

_ that you’ve done. Just continue on. Just be sure.  _

_ He is the shadow over all of the sky. He is all _

_ That there is in this world.  _

 

_ Then there’s her.  _

 

_ It’s not immediate. It’s not fixed all at once in one day. _

_ Not even in a home I don’t have to be brave in.  _

_ But a mother - the first one I’ve  _ _ ever _ _ had gives me a coat.  _

_ She asks me what’s wrong, and,  _

_ I tell her the cold is like a Raven.  _

_ … _

 

_ Teenage Jane looks up at the crowd. Her voice has cracked just once, on the last sentence, and her eyes are dry.  _

_ No one says anything, but as Jane steps up to the microphone and says “Thanks,” the crowd rises as one, and begins to applaud.  _

_ It is just possible to see Constance through the crowd, as she steps up onto the little stage and throws her arms around Jane.  _

_ Her daughter.  _


	6. Chapter 6

Jane is standing in the driveway when Constance and Charlotte pull in. 

“Be kind to her,” Constance says as Charlie kills the engine. “And be honest.” 

Charlotte watches as her mother waves Charlie away from the back door and bends to pull it open herself. 

“Mom,” she says, holding out her hand. “You should have let Frost bring her.” 

Constance grasps Jane’s hand and allows the detective to help her from the back seat of the car. “Charlotte Jane and I had several things we needed to discuss,” she replies simply. 

Charlotte notices that her grandmother does not release Jane’s hand as they head up the walk, but uses her the way she would use a cane, if she weren’t too proud to do so. 

“And now, you two will have a conversation, yes?” 

Jane looks over her shoulder at C.j. who looks back at her, trying for a little smile.

“Yeah,” Jane says softly. “I guess we will.” 

The house is warm after the chill of late September. Charlotte has a split second to be happy she is home, before Maura is there, drawing her into a hug.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she says into the soft folds of her mother’s sweater. “I’m sorry.” 

Maura pulls back to look at her. “You’re okay? She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

Charlotte shakes her head, trying not to well up. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. 

“You’ve mentioned,” Maura replies. “I’m very happy you’re home. We were scared when they called to tell us you skipped your last period.” 

Charlotte bites her lip, “You’re not mad?” 

Maura smiles, but doesn’t answer the question. “Why don’t you go down to the study and wait for your mother,” she says. 

C.j. turns away obediently, and catches sight of Jane and Constance, still in the doorway. Constance has Jane’s face in her hands, and she is speaking to her, too softly for Charlotte to hear. 

“Go on, Charlotte,” Maura says, giving her a little nudge. 

Charlotte heads down the hall, glancing into the living room on her way by. Mason is on the couch facing the TV, asleep with his head in his Gramma’s lap. When Charlotte looks up, she sees Laura is looking back at her. 

“I-” Charlotte begins her apology, but Laura puts her finger to her lips. She smiles, and then blows Charlotte a kiss. 

A hand on her shoulder makes her look around. Jane has come up beside her. She smiles in at Laura and Mason, and then tugs on C.j.’s shoulder gently, pulling her along. 

The study is Maura’s, perfect and ordered, with barely a book out of place. Both Jane and Charlotte sit down on the pull out couch with an air of caution, not wanting to disrupt any of the doctor’s things. 

For a while, they just sit side by side, Jane rubbing her left palm between the fingers of her right hand, looking down at nothing. 

“Mama?” Charlotte finally breaks the silence. 

“Yeah, bug?” 

“Why doesn’t Grandma let anyone help her but you?” 

Jane looks around at her, eyebrows raised. “What?” 

“Grandma. She doesn’t let anyone help her except you. She doesn’t use a cane, or let Frost help her get in the car. But she let you help her all the way into the house. How come?” 

Jane pulls a hand through her hair. “I think she lets me help her because she knows…” Jane pauses, thinking. “I think,” she begins again, “that she knows that  _ I  _ know what it’s like to feel helpless.” 

Charlotte must look confused, because Jane glances at her and smiles. The first genuine smile of the night. “When I was hurt. When Charles Hoyt took me and, uh, hurt me...I lost the use of my hands for months. And Grandma had to feed me. And it felt humiliating, to know that someone else had to do this simple thing for me.” 

Charlotte swallows a hundred new questions. 

“And I think now, she lets me help her because back then, I let her help me.” 

Charlotte lets this sink in for a time, before speaking again. “Mama?”

“Yeah?” 

“Are you mad at me?” 

Jane looks away for a moment. “Yes,” She says finally. “I’m really mad at you for disappearing like that.” 

“Why aren’t you yelling at me?” 

Jane frowns. “Do you want me to?” 

Charlotte shrugs, trying to take her grandmother’s advice to heart. “Kinda. It would be normal. Like, it would be what all my other friend’s parents did if they ran off.” 

Jane nods, thinking this over. “I don’t know if I can, Char,” she says finally. “I was much more scared than I was angry.” 

“Oh,” Charlotte says quietly. “I’m really sorry that I scared you and Mom. I didn’t mean to.” 

“I know,” Jane says. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand about Angela.” 

The name makes Jane’s shoulders tense. “Did she hurt you?” the words seem to get stuck in her throat, and they come out more harshly than the should. 

“No,” Charlotte says quickly. “She didn’t.” 

“Good,” Jane growls, though she looks like she instantly regrets the tone. “Look, Charlotte. I know that you probably have a lot of questions. And I want to answer them-”

“Is what your mom and that guy did to you why you sometimes freak out about me liking boys?” Charlotte asks it in a rush, before she loses her nerve, and Jane stares at her, wide eyed. 

“Y-yeah,” she answers slowly. “I think so.” 

“And why you won’t let me hang out at the mall, or like, sleep over at my friend’s houses?” 

“Char, Mom and I talked about those things and-”

“Because I  _ should  _ be able to do them, Ma.” 

“You’re right,” Jane says, and this time, when Charlotte goes to interrupt her, she holds up her hand. “No,” she says. “You’re right. You should be able to do those things, and I should be able to yell at you, and we  _ should _ probably be doing a lot of other things. We should have done what Alex and Olivia did, and just made the story a part of your history.” 

“So why didn’t you?” Charlotte asks. 

Jane sighs heavily. “Because I thought it didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t want her failings and his...actions to become  _ my  _ failings. Not even a little bit. But, I suppose it’s unavoidable in some ways.” 

This resigned concession makes Charlotte sit up and spin around to face her mother. “No!” she says vehemently. “You’re nothing like her!” 

Jane blinks, taken aback. 

“Seriously,” Charlotte says. “I was so mad, because I thought it didn’t matter too! And you were just keeping it from us for no reason. But I met her, and I see, okay Ma? And you’re absolutely nothing like her.” 

Jane’s eyes are shiny with tears, but she blinks a little bit, and they vanish. Charlotte wipes at her own eyes, hoping some day she has the same strength as her parents. Jane’s hands twitch in her lap, like she is going to reach out for a hug, and then thinks better of it. Charlotte notices. She remembers all the times in the past year that her mother has suppressed the gesture. 

She knows exactly when it stopped. 

“I like it when you hug me, Mama,” she says softly. “I’m really, really sorry.” And she reaches out and hugs her mother around the neck, relieved beyond words when her mother hugs her back, tight.

“Grandma showed me the recording of the first Gala you ever spoke at. Where you read a poem for her.” 

Jane pulls Charlotte into her lap. “She did huh?” 

C.j. nods. “Yep.” 

“Do you think you have time for another story? Or are you wiped for the night?” 

Charlotte snuggles back into her mother, who presses a tentative kiss to the side of her head. “I’m good. Tell me, please.” 

“You sure?” Jane sounds like she’s grinning. “I know Grandma can get long winded.” 

“I want to hear it,” Charlotte says, meaning  _ I want to stay right here with you, just a little bit longer.  _

And her mother pauses for a little too long, leading Charlotte to believe she’s trying to speak without letting her voice crack. She is not successful. 

“Okay,” she says, clearing her throat. “Okay. I want to tell you about why we all have stars over the doors to our bedroom.” 

Jane smooths Charlotte’s hair, and leans them back, against the arm of the couch. 

“Listen closely, funsize. I’m going to tell you about how I met your mother.”


End file.
